


Pyrolysis

by elephant_eyelash



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Singing, fluffy as a spring chicken, history of medicine nerding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 11:50:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elephant_eyelash/pseuds/elephant_eyelash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya, Gendry and stomach aches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pyrolysis

“You need to drink it.” He said as gently as he could.

“No.”

Gendry sighed. He spun the cup round to her again, but the tension was still in her shoulders. Her entire body had locked down from the moment he had ground up the remnants last night’s fire in his hands. He enjoyed the smell, the perfumes of the forge lingering on his hands again.

“It’s fine.”

“But why is it black?” She said, wrinkling her nose. She took in another laboured breath, and he quietly worried at the thinness of her face.

“It’s the charcoal.” He said. “Tobho used to give this to me all the time. It’s fine, promise.”

“But my maester never gave me stuff like this.” She said, dipping her finger tentatively in the blackened goat’s milk before drawing it quickly away.

“You had your own maester?” Gendry said, eyes growing wide. He rubbed his face again. If she was feeling better he’d rip the piss out of her for it, but she’d been vomitting for the past two days and her face was grey death. Making fun of her was only ever fun if she had the energy to fight back. “Well, what did he used to give you?”

“I don’t know. Just things. Things in bottles.” She said, her voice edged. She sunk back into ground, into the blanket Gendry had made them out of scraps of shirts (“I thought noble ladies were supposed to know how to sew”, he had moaned. She threw a rotten pear at his head for it).

“Well, there ain’t no maester here now.” He said. The rain began to pick up slightly. “Look, Hot Pie drank it and he’s sleeping, now.”

“How do I know you didn’t just poison him?” Arya growled.

“Poisoned men don’t usually snore.” Gendry said. He sat down beside her, folded his hands on his lap, and waited for her to relent. Above him the rain was softly brushing the tops of the leaves. Gendry stood and twisted a low branch over to Arya to shield her better from the rain. She kept her eyes squeezed shut. He stood and buried his hands deep in his pockets, studying the sky carefully for darkened clouds.

“If I drink it, will you sing to me?” She whispered, suddenly.

“Piss off.” Gendry snorted.

“Fine then.” She scowled. “I’ll just lay down here and die then and you’ll get lost because you’re useless.”

“I’m not the one whose sicking up everything she eats.” He said. “If you carry on like this Hot Pie will make it to Riverrun before you do.”

There was a short silence. The rain began to surround them more. Gendry sat down and scooted beside her underneath the makeshift shelter. He touched the bottoms of the leaves with his fingers, marvelling briefly at their texture. Against the terracotta sun bleached world of Flea Bottom, everything here was endless green and grey. No dust swirled in the air, just the smell of rain soaked earth.

“My mother used to sing me to me, when I was sick.” Arya whimpered. Beside him she was nothing more than a mess of hair and tattered blankets. He suddenly felt guilty, and in the midst of all this; this journey where she had lead them so effortlessly, had seemed so large and powerful; she became a little girl, near to breaking.

So he bit his lip, raised his eyes to the heavens, and passed her the milk.

“What do you want to hear? I don’t know much.”

“What did your mother used to sing to you?”

Evil words, he thought, for the most part. “There was this one…” He said, feeling his tongue grow thick and clumsy, and he felt himself shrink as he began to talk about her. Hells, he had never talked about her, not from the day she died. Why was her ghost visiting him again now? Her face became obscured under all the rain, but the words were still there, inked onto his memory.

He eyed Arya carefully. “Have you drunk it all yet?”

Arya proudly rattled the now empty cup and moved closer to Gendry in anticipation. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned away from her. In the distance Hot Pie’s snoring made a gentle rhythm of its own, mingling with the sound of the rain battering against the leaves.

_Hey, ho, nobody’s home_   
_Meat nor drink nor money have I none_   
_Still I will be very, very merry_   
_Hey, ho, nobody’s home._

_Ding dong, ding dong_   
_Wedding bells on a summer morn_   
_Carve my name on a moss covered stone,_   
_On a moss covered stone_

_Ah poor bird_   
_Take thy flight_   
_High above the sorrows_   
_Of this sad night_

Gendry’s eyes snapped open. Above him the world was its usual bright green. Hot Pie was still Hot Pie, and Arya was warm and steady beside him.

“That wasn’t singing…” Arya grinned, after a while. “That was murmuring.”

Gendry felt a beautiful relief wash over him.

“Piss off.”


End file.
